


Illusion

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst and Porn, Inline with canon, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The world will not cease turning because of the enmity of one man, Genkishi's heart will not stop beating because his skin will no longer know Gamma’s touch." Genkishi understands the difference between reality and illusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claws/gifts).



Genkishi doesn’t speak until Gamma’s turning to the door.

It’s not from any hesitance on his part. He knows what he wants, knows that this will be his last chance, that after the merge with the Gesso family there will be no kindness left for him in Gamma’s dark eyes, no smile for him on the other man’s lips. He’s made his peace with that, as he made his peace with many things for the sake of his life. In the end, he will survive, and he will give himself to his new god; the world will not cease turning because of the enmity of one man, his heart will not stop beating because his skin will no longer know Gamma’s touch except in memories. It’s not regret that stops his throat, but still he hesitates, lets the moment draw as long as he can, because accepting that this is -- must be -- the last time does not make him anxious for its conclusion. So it’s Gamma’s shoulders he speaks to, the breadth of them dark under the clean lines of his habitual coat, and when he speaks it is loud, carrying to fills the space.

“Gamma.” Familiar, the name, the sound sweet on his tongue with all the longing that has never quite been satisfied. “Stay.” 

Gamma pauses, looks back over his shoulder. He hasn’t turned back yet -- his lack of conviction is clear in the angle of his feet, the hand at his side still tense with expectation of reaching for the door handle -- but his eyes are soft, warm with concern Genkishi relishes with all the attention the last time deserves.

“You’re hurt,” he says, but he’s not moving away.

Genkishi shakes his head, pushes himself up on his elbows. He could go farther -- could get to his feet, if he wanted -- but some illusions have to be maintained in order to have what he wants. And what he wants, what he has always wanted, is the attention clear in Gamma’s eyes, the familial worry that might not be reciprocated love but is the closest thing Genkishi is ever going to get.

“Stay,” he says again, because he can’t claim to be unhurt, can’t profess his health without giving all his deception away. But he lets the word ring steady in his voice, certainty clear in his blood, and Gamma trusts him, as Gamma has always trusted him, and turns to come towards the bed.

Gamma’s hands are gentle. That has always surprised Genkishi, how carefully Gamma touches him; he wonders sometimes if it’s something Gamma learned with Aria, this breathless care like he’s touching something fragile. His fingers fit in around Genkishi’s waist, spread wide and steady against his back, and by the time their mouths come together Gamma is taking most of the other’s weight, supporting him as they ease back down to the mattress. His mouth is hot, his motions as careful in this as the shift of his hand; it all speaks to control, learned or inherent, a removal from the situation that is a bitter shadow at the back of Genkishi’s mind. But for all Gamma’s steady hands and careful movements his mouth is fire, burns through Genkishi like the electricity Gamma only ever turns on his enemies, until he’s trembling against the bedsheets helpless to the heat. He supposes that’s apt, too, in its way, a premonition for the divide between them that must come after this.

Gamma goes to his jacket, next. Genkishi knows how this goes, too, know better than to expect to get Gamma stripped down to bare skin to press against him. It’s enough, he thinks, to have his own jacket unzipped, the wrapping of unneeded bandages around his chest to run up against the shirt Gamma never takes off around the other. Whatever Genkishi wants, there’s only so much Gamma will give him, only so much he  _can_  give him; Genkishi can understand that, can see what losing Aria cost him. So this is enough, has always had to be enough, that Gamma sheds his coat, that he lets Genkishi reach up to ease the knot of his tie loose. He looks picturesque, like this, the violet of his eyes catching what light is still streaming through the window, only the white of his rumpled shirt to cover the cream of his skin. Genkishi can imagine -- has imagined, in illusions limited to his own mind -- how they would look together, with Gamma’s gold to turn him moon-white and ghostly.

But it won’t happen, not today, not ever. Today Genkishi draws the tie loose from the shirt the color of his own wrist, flicks it aside while Gamma drapes his jacket over the edge of the bed, and when Genkishi reaches for the front of his pants it’s Gamma’s hands he touches.

“You’re hurt,” he says, as gentle with the words as if they’re a touch, as if they could offer the injury a fist could if used carelessly. “Let me.”

Genkishi is more than capable of stripping off his own clothing, could in fact invert their positions with very little effort if he tried. But he would capitulate to this lie even in different circumstances, if it brought Gamma’s fingertips trailing against his bare hips, and the knowledge that it  _is_  a lie doesn’t steal the heat from the other’s touch. Genkishi shuts his eyes, blocks out the crease of almost-sorrow perpetually etched in Gamma’s forehead, and for a moment he can almost imagine this is normal, this is repeatable, that he’s something more than a replacement for a dead woman, that this is more than pressing the shape of their pining together into something resembling affection for a few minutes.

The air is cool against Genkishi’s legs, with his pants off. He lets his knees fall wide, an invitation for the press of Gamma’s hips as he reaches out for the other man’s belt. Gamma relents to the tug, leans in to brace himself over Genkishi’s shoulders, and when Genkishi tips his chin up Gamma capitulates to that silent plea too and ducks in to kiss him again. Electricity snaps, ozone in the air, and Genkishi’s hands are unsteady as he fumbles Gamma’s belt open, works the button loose and the zipper down without more than a passing thought to the action. He’s flushing hard without any encouragement but Gamma’s mouth on his, the slow spark of the other’s tongue sliding past his lips to lick against the roof of his mouth, and then Gamma’s pants are open, Genkishi can fit a hand inside them and press his fingers against the rising heat of Gamma’s cock. He’s good at this, the dexterity of his fingers useful as ever, and with Gamma pressed in close against him it’s easy to offer what the other likes, easy to feel what makes his breathing hitch and catch anxious in his chest.

Genkishi’s hard well before Gamma breaks away, the head of his cock leaking slickly at his stomach while the blond pulls back to look for lube with shadowed eyes. Genkishi watches him move without pulling his hand away, keeps urging sensation over the other with the drag of his fingers and the press of his grip. It’s satisfying, to have the weight of Gamma’s cock fitting in against his palm, to have his physical response if he can’t have his emotional devotion, and there’s a pleasure to be gained from the shadow in his eyes, too, the way his steady-gentle hands fumble and nearly drop the bottle as his slicks his fingers.

Gamma comes back in for a kiss as he reaches to fit his slippery fingers between Genkishi’s thighs. His mouth fits against the other’s, his throat swallowing back the whine in Genkishi’s chest and the shuddering arch of his back as Gamma pushes up into him; it’s gentle, as Gamma is always gentle, but the friction turns Genkishi inside-out, pulls him into his own illusion until he can’t see the shape of the lie. When he shuts his eyes now he can see Gamma’s smile, can imagine the heat in the other’s blood is for him alone, that their closeness is his by volunteering and not by asking. The satisfaction is hot, twists up his spine to spark life out into all the haze of his imagination, and when he groans against Gamma’s lips the sound he makes is the other’s name, wrought wide-open and vulnerable by all the ache in his body.

“Genkishi,” Gamma breathes, and he’s still steady but the wall is cracking, Genkishi can hear it in the sharp-short syllables of his name. He arches up, as far off the bed as he can get, and when he hooks his legs around the other’s hips Gamma gives in to the urging. His fingers slide free, the movement easy synchronization with Genkishi’s hand slipping free of his clothes, and then there’s just a moment, the anxious want of anticipation drawing long and thrumming like a note left hanging in the air. Gamma is looking down, watching his fingers slide wetly over himself, and Genkishi is looking up, watching the concentration in Gamma’s face, watching the way his own hand fits against the pale collar of the other’s shirt. Gamma braces himself into place, takes a breath telltale for expectation, and that’s enough cue, warning for Genkishi to curve his back and tilt his hips with far more dexterity than he ought to be master of given his claim to injury.

It doesn’t make a difference. Gamma’s only paying peripheral attention to him anymore; he’s occupied in the feedback from his own body, gold eyelashes fluttering shut in the first half-voiced groan of satisfaction as he presses forward, and Genkishi has to gasp hard for air himself, has to hold back the whine of appreciation friction-hot in his throat. But his eyes stay open, his attention fixed on Gamma’s features, and his legs are pressed against fabric and his fingers are caught on cloth but Gamma’s face is open to him, the unavoidable relaxation of pleasure spreading out over his face a masterpiece for Genkishi to appreciate. Genkishi knows he isn’t who Gamma wants, not really, not the way Genkishi wants Gamma himself, but there is something beautiful about simple physical sensation too, something Genkishi can never quite replicate with illusions try though he might. There’s a closeness, a connection with a heartbeat running out-of-time to his own, and when Gamma thrusts in deeper into him he winds an arm around the other’s neck, pulls the other’s face down to his shoulder so he can breathe against the sparkling gold of Gamma’s hair. It doesn’t matter who Gamma is thinking of, doesn’t matter that his mind is still grieving even while his body falls into a rhythm towards satisfaction; it doesn’t matter that Genkishi’s blood is tainted traitorous, that every breath he takes now he owes to Gamma’s enemy. The lies he’s told with words, the deception Gamma has offered with silence: they don’t matter, for these few minutes, where there is just electric heat and rhythmic motion between them.

Gamma comes first. Genkishi makes sure he does, as he always does, as he has ever since the first time he offered himself as some modicum of comfort for the other man’s loss. With his hand closed around himself it’s a simple matter to speed his motions, to slow to a crawl as the situation requires. This time it needed no deliberation at all; Genkishi’s heart is just starting to flutter out-of-pace, his breathing just starting to catch into anticipation when Gamma goes tense over him, chokes on an inhale against the shoulder of his open jacket. It might be his name, it’s probably Aria’s; Genkishi doesn’t listen for the syllables, lets the sound wash heat into him along with his last indulgence in his favorite illusion. Gamma is still gasping hot against his open collar when Genkishi turns his head, and speeds his strokes, and when he trembles himself open-mouthed and silent into orgasm he does so with the gold of Gamma’s hair filling his vision.

Gamma moves as soon as he’s caught his breath. Genkishi is still shivering through aftershocks, relishing the warmth of the other’s closeness, and his motion feels like a chill, the damp cold of a fog rolling in with the oncoming night. Gamma extricates them with as much care as he used initially, letting Genkishi lie limp and exhausted across the bed while he finds a towel to wipe them both clean. Genkishi pushes up on an elbow when Gamma steps away from cleaning them up, catches at the dropped tie to offer it between his fingers; Gamma takes it without speaking, loops it around and under his collar before twisting a knot into it without needing the assistance of a mirror. His coat slides on over his shirt, a hand smoothes through his hair, and he’s put back together, everything he should be, everything Genkishi wants.

“You should rest,” he says, gentle with undeserved and unneeded concern.

“Yes,” Genkishi lies. “I will.”

“Good.” Gamma hesitates at the foot of the bed; then he steps in, reaches out to press his fingers through Genkishi’s dark hair. His touch tingles down Genkishi’s spine, shorts out into his blood, and when Genkishi dips his head to shut his eyes Gamma’s lips brush his forehead, a brief, glancing moment of affection that hits with all the force of true reality. It steals Genkishi’s breath, leaves him open-mouthed and gasping, and by the time he has caught an inhale and opened his eyes Gamma is gone, the door easing shut behind him.

Alone Genkishi can let the lie fall, can stretch into his healthy body and look forward to the new life ahead of him. He doesn’t move. Better to lie still, spread out warm and heavy over the rumpled sheets, to let the haze of memory form itself into present comfort around him.

It’s a last indulgence. Illusions only work before one knows they’re there.


End file.
